


No Promises

by cant



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Panic Attack, Self Harm References, dubcon, it's all minor but just in case it's literally about self harm and a panic attack so, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cant/pseuds/cant
Summary: Conor doesn't know how to ask for things and Luca doesn't know how to make promises





	No Promises

There’s a little cut on his arm, right where his forearm meets his elbow. The little line where there’s a dip of muscle is marred now by a fresh red mark, which looks like it only stopped bleeding a moment ago. On his pale skin it looks worryingly irritated. 

“How did you do that?” Conor asks, careful fingers working up his wrist. 

Luca’s smirk is as innocent as ever, but Conor doesn’t know if he’d ever have guessed why Luca was so honest with him. “I did it myself,” he says calmly. 

“Like… Accidentally?” 

“On purpose,” Luca says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. He sinks to his elbows on the carpet, either side of Conor’s head – for a moment, Conor wonders when his parents are back, or what this is leading to, but then he’s brought back to the present when the real meaning of Luca’s words hits him. 

“You cut yourself?” he asks, eyes wide. Why is his breathing catching up to him? His heart jumps painfully in his chest, like it forgot to beat for a moment. He can only see his Dad, sitting on the floor of the bathroom, red seeping into the tiles, his body crumpled and leaking, and suddenly his clothes are too tight and time is moving too fast. “You shouldn’t- you- oh, shit-“ 

Luca just watches in fascination as Conor’s thoughts sink back behind his eyes, dulling them and panic rushing in to fill the vacuum left behind. His fingers are gripping Luca’s shirt sleeves, hard, his breath coming out hard and ragged, and then he’s scrabbling to get a hold, his throat tight and his chest tighter. Luca’s seen him have panic attacks before – he once asked if there was any way to stop it, but Conor just shrugged and asked him to be there when he was done panicking. 

What he didn’t mean, Luca is sure, was watching him slowly devolve to a teary, heaving mess, clutching at Luca like a desperate blind man, but Luca’s body likes the attention Conor’s hands are giving it – even though he grips too hard and cries too much, Luca can’t help but remember that they’re in Conor’s house, and it’s late, and his boyfriend looks _really_ cute when he’s crying. Maybe it’s sick of him, but he’s long since given up caring about that. 

It’s atmospheric, with the fire crackling beside them, the only light in the room. Behind them, through the door, moonlight lights the kitchen floor, bouncing off in blue light, and in front of them the front door remains locked, reminding Luca it’s only them. The entire house is empty and still beside their little island of warmth. Even though Conor’s having a panic attack, it’s nice. 

“Why would you do that?” Conor’s sobbing. 

He’s crying. Luca’s never quite sure what to do when he’s crying. “I wanted to know what it felt like,” Luca says plainly. He’s never sure why he’s so honest with Conor. Something about him is so genuine, it makes him want to give back the same honesty he gets. Even if it makes Conor worry. 

Conor wraps him up in a tight, tight hug, another thing Luca’s still a little wary about. It feels so nice, so comfortable, with their chests pressed up against each other, Luca’s calmly beating heart in harmony with the butterflies in Conor’s chest. His eyes are red with tears and his lips are bitten red with worry, but Luca thinks he’s even cuter that way. Cute enough to kiss. 

“Mmh- I- Um, Luca,” Conor says awkwardly, pushing him away with both hands on his shoulders, “can I ask you… Two things?” 

Luca nods. 

Conor breathes out. It comes out so shaky. “Uh, I… I want you to stop… Can you stop hurting yourself?” 

Luca frowns. “I’m not hurting myself,” he says. “It was just an experiment. Safe and all.” 

Conor’s eyes darken. Luca doesn’t know what triggered his panic exactly, but it’s there again, just under the surface, like squeezing one panic attack out of him wasn’t enough. “I know,” he says, his tone clipped, “but it’s- it’s dangerous.” 

Luca nods again. He makes no promises. Conor knows that. 

Conor breathes out again, this time a little less shaky. In the firelight, his deep, chocolate eyes look almost golden. Luca wants to take photos, so many photos, and make a collage, just so he can learn every millimetre of his face and his body. 

“Okay,” Conor sighs, reaching up to brush Luca’s hair out of his eyes, though it just falls back again in blond strands. “Um, second question. Can you not… I mean, I- Uh- I would really appreciate it if you… I, uh…” 

Luca waits. They’ve been through this – Conor’s prone to stuttering, but mostly because he doesn’t know how to ask for things. He just occupies himself with those beautiful collarbones while he waits, running his tongue over one, tasting all Conor. It tastes good. 

“Can you- can you not kiss me after- after panic attacks?” 

Luca stops. His heart sinks. But… That’s his guilty pleasure. He likes the taste of panic and worry and fear, so visceral, so raw, and he likes it when Conor kisses him back and wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him in so close, until they’re nothing but a tangle of gasping, dizzy bodies and tongues and lips and oh, even he’s aware this isn’t the best time to get turned on. 

“Luca?” Conor asks. He wants an answer. His fingers stop in Luca’s hair, instead resting on his shoulders. “Please.” 

“Okay,” Luca finds himself saying, dipping down to press little kisses to Conor’s collar anyway. “Sorry.” 

“Thanks,” Conor whispers. 

Luca makes no promises.


End file.
